Like father, like son
by Gigantisch Romantisch
Summary: Herbert runs into a special person, but realises that only when it's almost too late.


The play hadn't been what he had expected. Fast paced, minimalistic, shallow. Crude, almost. Stripped from all refinement. It had been over two decades since he'd last visited this venue and the questionable quality from back then had dwindled instead of improved. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but a hundred years ago everything had been better. Well, the arts, at any rate. The rest, not so much.

But one of the actors had struck home in a way Herbert didn't come across every night and he figured it would redeem the wasted hours if he'd pay the man his 'compliments'.

He was hungry.

The throng of people pushing him outside into the chilly spring night didn't help his feeling primal. Their revolting mix of perfume and body odor and their loud appreciation of the theater piece made him want to lash out with nails and fangs and wreak havoc, but he knew from experience that such would ruin the remainder of the night and reduce the chances of a successful catch to nigh zero.

So he steeled himself, gathered all the self-control he had – which, granted, wasn't much, because he was so hungry and so annoyed with everything – and followed the stream of people without shedding blood.

As soon as he could he broke free and took a post near the stage door, nodding to the few crew members hurrying past, done already. They were even more willing to leave the theater than musicians, up and about immediately after the curtains fell, glad to go home to family or comfortable loneliness.

Actors took forever, but it wasn't like Herbert had anything better to do.

Other spectators trudged along, alone or in small groups, to the parking lot or beyond to where the train station was. Nobody felt like lingering outside a firmly closed red steel door to tell some actor that he had been brilliant despite the piece of crap he was performing in.

Nobody, save one. A slender youth of indeterminable gender, huddling in a long black coat, settled himself on the other side of the door. He (or she) nodded to Herbert and shifted their eyes towards the door, eager.

Herbert became faintly aware of the sound of chattering teeth. Was it really that cold? He focused on the wind on his face and tried to feel its bite, longing to experience some physical discomfort besides the hunger. His cold dead body wouldn't register the temperature and he gave up swiftly.

The actors took their time and Herbert kept himself busy by studying the kid. He could appreciate the sleek blonde hair and the high cheekbones. The eye makeup made him think it was a girl, but he knew there was a certain fashion going around where boys would use makeup and nail polish too, as long as it was dramatic and dark. The coat obscured too much of the body to make out a chest or hips, but the shoulders looked wide, though skinny.

Boy, Herbert concluded. Pretty boy at that. He smelt good. Earthy. His blood would be rich. Hm.

"Who are you waiting for?" he asked.

The boy startled, looked at him with honey colored eyes. "Uhm… Just… someone." His voice was unusually deep for a kid of his size.

Herbert smiled to himself. Definitely boy. Good.

"What about you?"

"Oh, the guy who played Oedipus." Herbert waved a hand. "He was marvellous and I want him to know it."

"Derek already does. A bit too well." Something shifted across the boy's finely chiseled features, something that the eyeliner made look uglier than it was supposed to be.

"You know him?"

The boy shrugged. "My mom. She's the director."

"New at this, is she?" Herbert said carelessly.

The kid eyed him, shrugged again and turned his head towards the door. "No. She's been directing for twentyfive years."

"Really? How old are you then?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing, I was just wondering. You look young."

"I'm turning twenty next month. How old are you?"

Herbert couldn't tell if he was aggravated by the question or the notion he looked at least five years younger than his true age. "I'm older than I look, too. Aren't we lucky?"

"Lucky? I get carded every time I want to buy a drink and they keep asking me what high school I am in." Definitely aggravated now, but not at Herbert. Or at least not just at Herbert.

"I'm certain you don't have a lack of attention when you go out dancing. At least not from men." Girls usually preferred older, more experienced guys, he had gathered. Or more masculine men; he wasn't entirely sure why his father's prey had never been interested in him.

"What makes you think I want attention from men?" His voice lacked the affronted quality of an insecure little straight boy, though he tried to mask that with a studied annoyance.

Herbert smiled. "I can tell."

"How?" the boy demanded. His cheeks were rosy and his eyes shone with both anxiety and defiance. It made him even prettier.

"I am just that good."

"Derek is straight. Just so you know."

"They all are before they meet me."

The boy looked at him incredulously. "You're serious, aren't you?" he said at last.

Now it was Herbert's turn to shrug. "No. Not all of them. They're so much work, trying to hold on to their self-image, struggling and begging, finding excuses for their physical responses." He shrugged again. "Sometimes I want a fast snack."

Have you no shame? he heard his father's voice ringing in his head. He had – he would never tell a soul he'd let an old man spank him with an umbrella. It just hadn't ever served him to not be blunt when seducing people. The sooner you knew how willing they were going to be, the sooner you could feed or find different prey.

"How… many…" The boy seemed to debate with himself and reach a conclusion. "Sorry, that's none of my business." However his eyes still betrayed his horror and admiration.

Herbert drove his knife home mercilessly. "I think you have a right to know how many proceeded you." Pretending not to see his slack jaw and goggling eyes, he continued, "I lost count, but I've had a lot of practise." He cocked his head. "You're cute when you're blushing." In truth it clashed with his pale hair and dark eye shadow.

The stage door opened and they both looked away, stretching the spell spun between their eyes but not yet breaking it.

Three actors lit a cigarette the minute they stepped outside. They said a brief hello to the boy and went on their way. The door slammed shut and the kid's head snapped back to Herbert.

"What's your name?" he stammered.

Herbert could hear his heart race, and his breath had gone shallow and smelled sweet and musky. "You want to know what you should shout in blissful agony?" He grinned expectantly.

The boy seemed to contemplate that question and the longer he thought about it, the more scared he looked. Suddenly Herbert wondered if he was still pure as untrodden snow, pure as Alfred had been. Strange that after almost a century and near countless other men and boys he still had to think about Alfred in situations like this. After all he hadn't been that special.

"I don't want you to be some nameless conquest," the kid managed at last.

Herbert raised an eyebrow at the unexpected cockiness, but appreciated it all the same. This wouldn't be cattle after all, but proper prey.

"Fair enough," he conceded. "You can put me on your doubtlessly very long list of conquest as…" He pondered for a moment. "As Herbert," he said with a sly grin. He always used his real name and always pretended he made it up. It worked better than actually fabricating one.

The look the boy gave him was pure suspicion and he didn't understand. "What?"

"Who told you?"

"Told me what?"

"My name!"

"I don't know your name. You were going to be my nameless conquest."

The boy scowled, which actually didn't do much to make him less attractive. His soft features reminded Herbert of someone, but he didn't know who. Perhaps he'd known the boy's father, or grandfather, or greatgrandfather. Beauty like that usually ran in the family.

"I don't believe you."

"Fine, then don't. I'll put you in the books as Snow White," Herbert replied impatiently.

The door opened again and some actress came out. She waved at the boy, glanced at Herbert and frowned, looked back at the boy. "I didn't know you had a brother, Herbert," she said curiously.

"I don't," both of them responded stared at each other.

"Could've sworn…" The actress looked a little confused. "Anyway, your mom will be a little while, Derek is acting up. See ya, kid." Neither of them responded to her and she walked off with an indignant clack in the sound of her heels on the pavement.

"Your name is Herbert?" Herbert asked skeptically as soon as she was out of earshot.

"You really didn't know?"

Herbert rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I just met you, remember?" He put it aside for now, the hunger demanded it. "Do you want to wait for your mom somewhere warmer? If it's going to take longer…" He looked the boy Herbert into his honey colored eyes and smiled his most seductive smile. Almost immediately he saw the resistance melt away and despite himself the boy nodded, slowly but determined.

The old-fashioned promises of everlasting love and trips on night's wings that worked so well for his father had never suited him. A little vampiric coaxing and the blunt self-confidence got him what he needed almost every time. And if not, the nights were long enough to try again.

He took a long-legged step towards the boy, closing the distance between them in one stride. The boy looked up to him, his pale face catching the harsh orange of the streetlights. His lips parted, his tongue darted out to moisten them, but in his eyes Herbert could see that his brain had nothing to do with what his body wanted right now.

Even though he could hear voices through the door, which told him they would have mere seconds of privacy now, he leaned in and put his cold mouth against the boy's. He tasted like he smelled and his hunger roiled inside him, filling the void in his heart.

Before the door opened completely he had broken the kiss, leaving the kid panting and himself a tad warmer than he had been.

"Let's go," he said, not paying attention to the people greeting the director's son.

The boy nodded wordlessly, equally ignoring his mother's subjects. He turned around and stalked off. The long coat was well cut and slim fit and Herbert appreciated the view. Something old stirred inside him, something he hadn't felt for decades. Perhaps he would leave the killing until after he had had some other pleasure.

Not caring but curious where the boy would lead him Herbert followed, half a step behind him, walking in his scent. His fine blonde hair moved in the chilly night breeze and involuntarily Herbert felt his own locks, pulled back in a ponytail for tonight. His was blonde, too, he remembered suddenly and he pulled a strand in front of his face to confirm the dim memory. Yes, the same color as the boy's. Perhaps that was why the woman had thought they were brothers.

Lost in thoughts he failed to notice the boy had stopped and he crashed into him. The boy yelped and blindly grasped around until his long fingers dug into the steely flesh of Herbert's upper arm. On impulse Herbert swept him up in an embrace, putting him back on his feet.

"Careful," he cautioned the boy, looking down on him and then leaning in for another kiss.

The boy returned the kiss this time, feverishly and willing, and his hands seemed to be autonomous beings, roaming across every inch of his body they could reach.

Herbert hoped he wouldn't be too shy to find bare skin soon; he longed for the searing flesh of the living against his death. The hot tongue invading his mouth was almost unbearable, waking a lust pulsing through his body like a perverse imitation of a heartbeat. Deep inside of him something started to glow.

This kid was a good kisser, he mused when he felt his disused body kick into gear. Not at all as pure as Alfred had been.

He ran his fingers through the white golden tresses and marvelled at their softness. The other hand traveled down and pulled the boy even closer, drawing out a moan smothered in the kiss. Smiling almost inperceptably he started to grind his dancer's hips.

Gasping for breath the boy pulled his head back and looked up at him, arousal painting his eyes the color of expensive brandy.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're beautiful?" Herbert was startled by the huskiness in his own voice. He desired this boy, wanted to make him his. And not just for tonight, either. He felt oddly connected and it scared him enough to step back from temptation, both mentally and physically.

The boy stepped with him, unwilling to give up the closeness, and held him against his body with a strength Herbert had not expected in the slender body.

"Not in the way your eyes are telling me I am," he breathed.

"You poet." Herbert chuckled over his own anxiety.

"How did you know?" Again suspicion rose into his features.

"Know what?"

"That I write poetry."

"It fits you. You have the soul of a poet."

The answer was clearly something he wanted to hear and his face broke open in a flattered grin, just as Herbert thought he couldn't be more beautiful.

"Do you want to read something?"

"Of course. I love poetry." It was true, but that was not why he said it. Reading some of this youth's angsty poems might just give him the respite he needed to get his act together before he made a huge mistake.

The boy's face lit up even more and without letting go of Herbert's arm he continued down the street. "We don't live far from here. It's only a short walk."

A short walk that was made longer by stopping at every streetlight for a heated kiss, most of them commenced by the boy. It kept Herbert's fire burning , the fire he wanted to die down more than ever, but he was unable to turn those hot lips away, unwilling to give up the closeness of the body that already felt more familiar than his own.

"Here it is," the boy said at last, three blocks from the theater. He was out of breath and his eyes shone with an intense excitement. Apparently he had been rather susceptible to Herbert's subtle influences.

Or he really likes me, Herbert thought bemused. His prey usually wasn't this taken with him, just barely willing enough to not make a scene when he sank his teeth in their artery. It was oddly flattering and some of his resistance went up in smoke.

The boy kissed him again, his hand fumbling around in the pocket of his coat to find the key. With a grin Herbert slipped in his own hand in the same pocket and played with his fingers, moving around to find something else underneath the fabric.

As soon as he found it, stroked it, squeezed it, the boy yanked out his hand with the keys and turned around to fight with the lock. Herbert moved in, pressing his body against the boy's, wrapping one arm around his waist and stomach to keep him close, and nuzzled his neck.

That was a mistake.

In an instant his fangs had extended, awoken by the smell and the feel of the blood coursing under his mouth. Halfway his moan turned into a growl and he tightened his grip, opened his mouth wide.

The door clicked open. "Come on," the boy panted and despite Herbert's inhuman strength he broke free with the ease of the determined.

Herbert's jaws snapped together with nothing but air between them. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to cool down just enough to not murder the boy on his doorstep. When he opened them, the boy was standing in the hallway, coat on the rack, revealing a thin but healthy body.

Wearing all black – a silk dress shirt, three buttons unfastened, and a pair of skinny jeans – he looked like he was already part of their family, a brother in Herbert checked his canines, which looked longer than average but not inhumanly so.

When Herbert didn't move and just stood there staring, the boy started to unbutton the rest of his shirt. Blue veins shimmered under his pale skin and Herbert could almost smell his accelerating pulse.

"Do you want me to come in?" he asked, he had to ask, in a voice almost as low as the boy's. "Tell me. Do you want me to come in?"

"Please," the boy groaned. "You don't need to ask that."

"Tell me," Herbert insisted, his eyes following every movement as the boy took the shirt of his body, muscles rippling under his skin as he did. Soft blond hair snaked down to the low waistband of his jeans.

"I want you to come in… me." The boy visibly startled himself but Herbert leaped across the treshhold and didn't leave much room for wonder.

He thrust the boy against the wall, rattling the pictures hanging there. One actually fell off its hook and smashed on the console table. The sound drew Herbert's glance briefly towards the frame and he frowned.

A woman and a boy, clearly his boy, both sitting on the red plush of a theater chair in an empty auditorium. She looked eerily familiar but he couldn't place her right away nor did he let himself time to think about it.

Nimble fingers plucking at his clothes, trying to find a way in, distracting him. What would've been his pulse if he were alive quickened. He kissed the boy again, hard, hungrily, ignoring what was eating at the back of his mind. Something was wrong, but not wrong enough to stop.

Without giving up the kiss he stripped himself of his jacket and blouse and he gasped for breath he didn't need when the now idle fingers found a way to keep themselves busy elsewhere. All thoughts of the woman in the picture fled before the red wave of lust slamming through his body.

The hot skin of the boy's chest against his own and his groping hands were enough to make Herbert's knees buckle. He staggered backwards, crashed into a door that flew open and went over backwards, hitting his head on a coffeetable hard enough to have stunned him if he'd been human.

Instantly the boy was beside him on his knees, concern etching his features. "Are you okay?"

Herbert reached up and pulled him down on top of him, plunging back into the kiss as if nothing had happened. Nothing should distract him now lest the budding realisation would blossom.

He knew his nails left marks in the skin of his back, but he made sure they weren't deep enough to draw blood. He wouldn't tempt himself even more.

Soon it became clear that Herbert wasn't the only one with supple hips and their moaning mingled into a continues stream. It reached a quick crescendo when the boy let his mouth roam free and latched on to Herbert's throat, licking the skin above his jugular, where so long ago his father's teeth had sunk in. Bucking his hips on the verge of explosion he pushed the boy's head away.

"No," he hissed and he rolled over, holding on to the thin wrists, pushing them against the floor as if the boy offered any resistance. If he was offering anything, it was himself.

The hunger was a tight knot somewhere between his stomach and his throat, leaving no room even for lust now. The boy's face was flushed, his veins stood out against his skin. A face that he knew too well for the time they had spent together. A face that looked so much like his mother's.

This was impossible. And yet he knew it wasn't. It wouldn't have been the only time he'd been careless in leaving his prey behind, but that usually resulted in more vampires, not in —

"Take me," the boy whispered and his eyes begged, not for mercy but for pain. "Please…"

With an ugly cry Herbert tore himself free from temptation. As if the umbrella of wrath had once again come down on him he scampered away backwards until a couch stopped him in his tracks. Breathing heavily he stared at the boy.

"I can't," he moaned in frustration. "I can't, I won't!" He dug his fingers into the carpet, tearing through the thick material. It was all he could do to stop himself from going in for the kill. His body struggled, making him tremble all over.

The boy sat up, bewildered and scared. He crawled towards Herbert, who tried to vanish into the couch to stay away from him. "I want you to, please." He grabbed Herbert's ankle and again his strength was baffling. Holding on to his leg, the boy's other hand slid up the smooth satin along the inseam.

Herbert stared at the hand and then at the boy's face, unable to move, not even when the hand reached the spot where the fabric was straining."I won't," he repeated in a tone he'd never heard himself use. He'd thought that such kind of self-loathing was something only his father could display. He was disgusted that he still wanted to have this boy, both his blood and his seed, after what he now knew.

"Why not?" The boy finally kept his hand still and tried to bore his glance into Herbert's eyes, but Herbert averted his gaze. Suddenly he knew for certain that his own eyes had exactly the same color.

"Because you're my son."

The hand left his crotch as if there was a red hot poker hidden in his pants. "What the fuck?"

"It's true. It has to be true."

"The fuck it is. You're my age! Do you think I'm insane? Look at yourself!"

"I can't." Herbert lifted his head and his glance was met with pained disbelief and fearful doubt. It would only be a matter of seconds before it would change into revulsion and terror, like always when they found out what he really was. Usually that was after they went limp in his arms and right before they died. Never at this stage.

"Can't what? Suddenly you're not very capable, are you?" The anger in the boy's voice was actually a relief. At least he wouldn't run away screaming right away.

"I can't look at myself. I don't have a reflection."

"Don't be ridiculous." The boy leaped up with admirable ease and snatched a silver serving tray from the table next to the door, sending the matching tea set flying. "Look!" He thrust the tray into Herbert's face. "You're barely twenty, my age. Not forty. Look!"

Obediently Herbert shifted his gaze to the empty tea tray. "Look for yourself," he said quietly. He tilted the shiny metal until he could see the boy's face, leaning in. He observed his frown, his searching glance, felt the heat of his body when he tried to find Herbert in the makeshift mirror.

"This is impossible," he breathed, horrified. "What… how…?" He touched Herbert's face as if to ensure the man was actually real. Herbert felt the ghost of goosebumps on his skin at the sensation and closed his eyes for a moment. It rekindled the fire burning deep within him and he jerked his head away from the fingers.

"I am a vampire." He pushed off from the floor and stood up. Looking down on the boy he also noticed his body was still yearning for release, an obscene sight considering he was gazing upon his offspring.

"Don't be ridiculous." But he could hear in his voice that the boy already believed him. It was not so much different from the seducing of straight men. Their objections were just for show, a show they performed only for themselves.

Without replying Herbert walked back to the hallway and stooped to gather his clothes. He could hear the boy behind him, a tentative touching of his shoulder. He straightened his back and looked at the pictures on the wall. There was no doubt, now, about who the woman was. She had aged, obviously, but not so much she had lost her girlish figure.

"Over twenty years ago," he started, looking at what should have been his reflection in the glass of the picture frame, "I visited this town and hooked up with a girl. She wasn't my first, though to date she's been my last. I was in the mood for something different." Just as his father had been with Alfred. "After she was spent I was ready for the kill, but I was disturbed by her drunken ex-boyfriend. I killed him instead, took his blood, then left, forgetting about her."

He turned around and forced his gaze deep into the boy's. "I had never thought about offspring. To be honest, I didn't even think vampires were fertile." He gave an apologetic shrug.

"Mom always said she named me after my father…" The boy lifted a hand and traced Herbert's jawline with his fingertips, then his lips.

Without thinking Herbert took his hand and kissed the palm. He traced the lines with the tip of his tongue and only noticed his mistake when his hunger and lust crashed back into him. He stepped back, against the wall.

"What is it?" The boy's chest rose and fell with his agitated breath. At a sudden realisation his eyes went large and round. "Are you… were you going to kill me, too?"

"That was the plan, yes. I still have time to find someone else." He slipped back into his blouse and tucked the hem in his pants.

The boy looked distraught, which Herbert couldn't blame him for. No doubt his world had been turned upside down a couple times this night. Getting seduced by the man who turns out to be a vampire that's after your blood and happens to be your father, too couldn't be the easiest thing to deal with for a thin pale youngster. He remembered how shocked he was when he learned about his own father, after all.

A pang of sympathy coursed through his veins, a feeling so seldom used that he didn't recognise it at first. "I'm sorry," he mumbled and he noticed he actually meant it. "I will leave now. You had better forget about me."

"What? No!" The boy grabbed his hand and again the strength in those fingers shocked Herbert. Now he realised where that power came from he wondered what other vampiric traits the boy had inherited from him. "You can't leave me! You're my father!"

"I deposited my seed in your mother once. That's not what makes a father." He carefully pried the fingers loose, he didn't want to hurt the boy. Not anymore.

"Then at least be my lover." Desperation seeped into his voice. "I don't want you to leave, I want you to stay, with me! I want you… I… I love you…"

"Oh my boy…" Herbert slowly shook his head, sounding much like his own father. Suddenly he wondered how the count would react to the news he was a grandfather and he hesitated. Would he deny his father this? "You don't love me," he said before he'd reached a decision." That's the spell I put you under to make you more compliant."

The boy looked so crestfallen that Herbert felt a twinge of guilt, also something he hadn't experienced in quite a long time.

"I'll be back tomorrow," he said on a whim. "We both need to cool down." He glanced meaningfully at the boy's pants, then at his own.

"Promise?"

He swore under his breath, but nodded. "I promise." He put his jacket back on and pulled it straight. Not sure what else to say he went to the door in silence.

"Herbert?"

He turned around.

"If I wasn't your son…" The boy didn't need to finish his question.

"You would have had the best night of your life." He paused, waiting for the words to sink in. As the boy's face lit up in desire, he drove the knife home. "And your last."

He left, the sound of Herbert's gasp ringing in his ears.


End file.
